Chapter Twenty-Seven

I cast my eye over the parking lot but there’s no sign of our driver. Twilight is waning, the shadows have multiplied, and a shroud of darkness is threatening the vast, empty space.

I stand on the studio steps, mentally rolling my eyes and balling my fists. I bet the guy’s getting tanked up in the hotel bar already. I hope he’s had the good foresight to order me a quadruple.

“Miss Winters?”

I turn in surprise as one of Jake’s anonymous, mountainous bodyguards emerges from the building behind me. He’s tall and broad with a shaved head and an air of barely controlled menace about him. He attempts to raise a semblance of a smile but it looks more like a twisted grimace on his fleshy boxer’s face. “Please. If you’d like to step this way…”

With one giant arm he attempts to usher me down the steps, but I skip sideways as my self-preservation mode kicks in again. “Why? Where are we going?”

“To your vehicle,” he says, gesturing as a familiar black jeep appears out of nowhere and glides to a stop next to us.

“But Mr. Dalton’s in Marrakech,” I say in disbelief.

“He requested that we collect you tonight.”

He did?

The second bodyguard climbs out of the driver’s seat. He’s shorter than the first guy but twice as wide. It’s all hard muscle, though. When he moves to open the passenger door, there’s barely a ripple of uncoordinated movement beneath his shirt. Up close, he’s not quite so intimidating. I’d almost call him handsome, in a battered sort of a way.

“Did he really ask for this?” I ask, hesitating again.

“He was very insistent, Miss Winters.”

That sounds like Jake. Relenting, I slide into the backseat as the two men move to occupy the front. We pull out of the studio lot, but instead of the usual route home, we turn right and head north. I feel a frisson of panic as I stare out at a dusky scene that is sparse and unfamiliar.

“Just relax,” croons the driver, catching my eye in the mirror. “We’ll be there shortly.”

Relax? Not when Jake is pulling the rug out from underneath my feet again. I’ve given up trying to anticipate his next move.

I glance at the bodyguards. These men are as ever present in Jake’s life as I am, yet I still don’t know their names. I can sense a cloak of curiosity separating the backseat from the front. The taller of the two suddenly switches off the radio and reaches round to offer me his hand.

“William,” he states gruffly.

“Nice to meet you, William.” I take it and wince at his firm grip.

“Mason,” says the second, nodding at me in the rearview mirror again.

“How long have you worked for Jake? I mean Mr. Dalton.”

“Two years,” says William, shifting in his seat to adjust the position of his holster. My body gives an involuntary shiver when I see the weapon shielded there.

We’re cruising through the outskirts of another strange town when my stomach turns to mush. Is that the perimeter fencing of an airport complex up ahead?

Sure enough, the car slows to a crawl and approaches a security checkpoint. I angle my head and spot a sleek white private jet resting on the tarmac in front of us. Holy crap. I’ve never been this close to such a blunt display of wealth before. My stepfather is loaded, but this is a whole different league of green.

The vehicle continues toward the aircraft’s steps, and that’s when I see him. He’s lounging against the railings with his arms crossed, chatting away to the pilot, completely oblivious to the mess he’s made of me today. That’s when the penny drops.

This is his jet.

His reality.

And mine?

I’m in lust with a Hollywood tsar.

He’s changed his shirt again. This time it’s black and fitted, and he’s rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. He looks composed and relaxed, his deep tan intensified by the harsh glare of the open aircraft door.

Why isn’t he in Marrakech?

He turns when the car stops, and I watch the easy smile fade from his lips. He’s put me through hell and he’s expecting me to give him some major shit about it.

Mason opens the passenger door and I exit as gracefully as I can on trembling legs. This is what Jake does. He shakes me up and makes me feel a somersault of emotions, ones I never dreamed I could feel, not after everything that’s happened to me.

I take a deep, steadying breath, and then disarm us both by walking straight up to him and throwing my arms around his neck.

For a second he doesn’t move. He doesn’t dare. It’s as if he can’t believe that I’m going to let him off the hook this easily. And then his arms are closing around my shoulders like a vise and he’s kissing the top of my head, running his fingers through my dark hair, and pulling me even closer. I feel my body relax and melt into his embrace, unleashing all of the angst of the last twenty-four hours.

“This is unexpected,” he murmurs, his deep rumble filling every chamber of my heart. “I imagined all sorts of scenarios, but I never envisaged this. Are you changing the rules again, Books? Or is this false pretenses and smokescreens? Is your bag full of painful torture devices?”

“Couldn’t get them through security,” I say, admiring the length of his jawline, so delectably darkened with two days’ worth of stubble. “I guess you’re off the hook…for now.”

He laughs. Warm breath furls against my cheek. “You’re not a woman to cross under any circumstance.”

“You’d do well to remember that.”

“I will. But first I need to taste you.” And he does just that, dipping his head and governing my mouth with his tongue until his private jet becomes a blur in the background, and nothing else exists except us.

“We’re not done until I say we’re done,” he murmurs.

“Is that right?”

“My dick’s demanding another extension to the whole three-night thing, and quite frankly I’m agreeing with him. I take it you got my letter?”

I shake my head. “I haven’t opened it yet.”

“But you came anyway? Even after…?” He sounds odd, like he’s declaring the words to himself and not me. “Never mind,” he says briskly. “I had to keep the press guessing. They’d gotten wind I was hot for a member of my crew. I figured if they got a picture of Cassie and me in Marrakech it would take the heat off us. I called in a favor, set up the shot, and then flew back to Erizo as soon as I could.”

I’m still trying to process it all as he takes my hand and leads me up into the aircraft. He walks me right through the luxurious cabin with its dark mahogany trim and cream leather seats, and into a small double bedroom at the rear.

How close is too close?

Is he worth it?

“I’m not dragging you into the limelight, Charlie—that’s my cross to bear.” He sits down on the edge of the bed and yanks me astride him, nuzzling into my neck. “I know that isn’t the claim to fame you’re striving for. You want to be defined by your actions, not by the man you’re fucking.”

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” I whisper, tipping my head back so he can’t see my expression. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s helping to keep my past away from us, which is good enough for me.

Grasping the tops of my arms, he twists away and pushes me backward onto the bed. He follows me down, dragging my legs apart and falling between them. The weight of his pelvis pins me to the mattress, the thickness of his erection telling me exactly how pleased he is to see me.

His masculinity is blitzing my senses again. My panic fades to a dull residue as the security of his embrace filters down through my body, quickly replaced by that tight coil of lust he inspires so effortlessly. I reach up to cup his jaw as I wrap my legs around his waist. “Thank you,” I whisper.

He runs the length of my nose with his own. “Have a little faith in me, Books. I can’t give you more than a moment, but I’ll make it count.”

“Can I show you how much I appreciate it?” I slide my hand beneath the waistband of his jeans for the best treasure of all.

“Sounds tempting… But as much I’d like to fuck that gratification out of you, we really ought to take our seats.”

I catch his smirk as he peels away from me and rises from the bed. He knows what he’s done. I’m going to be squirming the whole way through takeoff.

At the last minute, he reaches down and touches my cheek as a conciliatory gesture.

“Where are we going?” I ask, leaning into his hand.

“On our first date,” he says, his dark eyes gleaming. “And, lucky for you, I always put out.”